House of Shadows
by Mymomomo
Summary: It started with a stain on the floor then bite marks on their necks and trashed furniture. Attacks came afterwards. The house at 15 Morrison Drive was supposed to be a fresh start, not the gateway to Ichigo and Toushiro's personal hell. Something malevolent is stewing, determined to shatter their already crumbling marriage and drag up horrors from the past.
1. 15 Morrison Drive

**New story time! I've actually been planning this one for a while now. I wanted to try my hand at horror and what better victims than Ichigo and Toushiro are there? **

**Hope you guys like it!**

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><p>Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya hummed softly along to the radio as he drove down a narrow country road, swerving to avoid a shallow pothole. Pine forests bordered either side of the road and the crisp wind tousled his hair as it blew through the open window. As beautiful as the scenery was, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit depressed; it was too different from the bustling streets and high-rise buildings of San Francisco. He had been driving for what felt like days and could have counted on one hand the number of buildings he had seen. It could be a good sort of different, but he hadn't been here long enough to tell.<p>

He took a break from humming to sigh softly. He had reminded himself at least twenty times, in the past thirty minutes or so that the move was for the best; they needed to get away from San Francisco. But, honestly, right now Wyoming wasn't cutting it. He knew that their new house was right smack in the middle of wild, untamed nature, but he hadn't realised how wild and untamed the nature was turning out to be. All he could see were trees, lakes, and the occasional filed full of cows and sheep. Speaking of which, he slammed on the breaks as a heard of sheep darted out into the road. A middle-aged farmer waved apologetically at him and Ichigo nodded his head in acknowledgement. At least the people were friendly.

He glanced over to the passenger seat to see if the abrupt stop had upset his sleeping husband. Light snores told him otherwise and he smiled a little to see his head still resting against the car door; the seat belt straining at his chest. Usually, Toushiro was an impossibly light sleeper, but he had worn himself out driving nearly straight through the night. His medication didn't help much either.

Ten minutes later Ichigo began to see a few driveways – not more than pathways really – branching from the main road. A few of them were nicely kept, paved over and lined with neatly trimmed bushes or short brick walls. He paid attention to the number plates, hoping that he hadn't passed the one he was looking for.

"Fifteen, fifteen, fifteen," he muttered to himself; as if saying the word out loud would help him spot the number. He turned left a little further down the road onto a driveway that wasn't as nice as the others. Bare dirt and stones made the car shake as he drove along the narrow turns.

He let out another deep breath as he pulled up to the front of a rather large house and sat still for a few minutes to take it all in. He had seen pictures online; somehow it had seemed a bit smaller on the screen. It was a two story house – villa, or so the website had said – made predominantly of rough logs and grey stone. He was happy to see that the large windows had not been a lie and overall, it seemed to resemble what he had looked at online. He probably should have come to check in out in person before deciding to buy, but their move had been rushed. He pulled up a little further, so that they wouldn't have to walk too far to unload boxes then leaned over to wake Toushiro.

"Hey, Shiro, we're here," he said gently touching his husband's shoulder.

Toushiro jolted awake, causing Ichigo to jump slightly, and ran a hand down his face, breathing deeply.

"Bad dream?" Ichigo asked.

"It's nothing, "Toushiro replied, shaking his head. He abruptly opened the door and got out of the car. "So, this is it, huh?"

Ichigo followed him, quickly turning off the car. "Yeah, it's pretty nice, right?"

Toushiro climbed the short flight of stairs to the front porch letting his fingers trail along the rough wood and stared in through the wide glass doors. Ichigo threw him the keys and after taking a few seconds to figure out which key unlocked what he stepped through the threshold. Ichigo heard him take a sharp breath as he glanced around the foyer. They were met with a wide stair case, polished to perfection. To the right was the living room and the left lead to the kitchen. The large windows let in tonnes of light and high ceilings gave the rooms an airy atmosphere. He turned towards the living room, clicking his tongue when one of the floor boards creaked.

"It's pretty old," Ichigo explained, "but I was assured that everything has been refurbished, so we don't need to worry about anything falling apart on us."

Toushiro nodded and wandered over to one of the windows that looked over the patio at the back of the house and the sparse forest beyond.

"It originally belonged to the owner of an old coal mine, so I guess he went a little overboard on the blueprints. But it's nice, right? I mean it has five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a finished basement _and _attic."

Toushiro glanced at him for a second before turning back to the window. Ichigo's stomach sank when he saw that his lips were set in a grim line.

"I still think it's too big for just two people," he said at length.

Ichigo set his jaw and slowly lowered himself on to the couch which the movers had pushed into a corner.

"And it's too isolated."

Ichigo exhaled forcefully. "We moved here because of your job. I did the best I could for such short notice."

He saw Toushiro roll his eyes.

"Anyway, this house was an absolute steal. We may as well have gotten it for free. Having to wake up a little earlier to get to work doesn't seem so bad when you think of it."

"We'll make up the difference in buying gas."

They were both silent. Ichigo ground his teeth together and Toushiro seemed to be ensnared by the scenery. Eventually he stood up, dragging a hand through his hair – he was sure that it was more grey than ginger at this point.

"I'm going to take a look at the bedrooms."

Toushiro didn't acknowledge him when he left.

...

The wooden finish was had been what ultimately made Ichigo decide on this house. It was rustic yet extravagant; he still couldn't believe how low the asking price was. There had to be a reason of course, but Ichigo didn't care to dwell on it for too long. Everything else was perfect, they were in absolute seclusion, but their neighbours weren't too far. Most of the houses on Morrison Drive were vacation homes, but the realtor had told him that there were a few families who lived here full time. There was even a small lake that boarded the back side of the property and the surrounding forest would be amazing to hike or camp. Ichigo had been giddy with excitement, almost euphoric, when he researched the house and its surroundings.

Ichigo floated in and out of the upstairs rooms, aside from the master bedroom, he had asked the movers to leave the others bare. He would turn one into his home office, of course, and he hoped to fill the other three rooms soon. The carpeting had been removed upon his request. Thankfully, the wood underneath was in good enough condition. All they had needed to do was sand it down and polish it. He had been pretty optimistic when he saw the number of rooms, but he had always wanted a big family. And this house would serve as the perfect start to it.

Each room was rather spacious and had windows either looking to the front or back of the house. The master bedroom took up majority of left side, with its adjoining bathroom, and he was pleased to discover that he would be able to see the sunrise from the room. His best ideas always came with the rising sun. There was just something about watching the world turn from a dreary grey to rich colours that made his fingers itch to write.

One of the other rooms had a bay window – it would make a wonderful window seat for a little girl; he could read her fairy tales and put up flouncy curtains. The two other rooms opened up to the balcony at the back of the house. It was an airy setup; Ichigo could tell which walls had been broken down and where doors had been added. He had always hated closed up spaces; they made him feel like he was suffocating. He had avoided certain rooms in his San Francisco condo for that very reason.

He opened the door to the last room, and hesitated; there would be a problem with the last room. The floors were pretty dark, but off to the far corner was a dark stain. It looked as if a large amount of some liquid had been dropped and left to soak in. He stooped down and touched the edge of the stain with his index finger. Did the renovators have an accident and not tell him? He didn't remember anything about telling them to stain the floor darker; the natural colour was fine. Maybe a previous owner had wanted something different, but then quickly realised that the colour looked too similar to dried blood and changed their mind.

Ichigo hesitated and let out a breath that he didn't realise he had been holding while his stomach churned lightly. His breath condensed in front of his face and he jumped back in surprise. He stared unbelievingly; it was summer and too warm for that to happen. He shook his head; he must have been more tired than he thought. But then he noticed goose bumps on his arms and that the room was, in fact, very chilly. Frowning, he stood up and searched the wall for a thermostat. Maybe something was up with the air conditioning.

Spying the small, white box he got up, rubbing his arms. The reading said that the temperature matched the rest of the house and Ichigo's frown deepened; that wasn't right. He then placed his hands above the air vents in the floor only to find out that nothing was blowing from them. Great, he huffed, the system was definitely broken in this room. The cold metal stung his fingers, when he accidentally brushed it and he jolted again, losing his balance and stumbling backwards into the window. A frigid puff of air grazed his back and he frowned in confusion. He turned around and studied the window, paying close attention to the seal. A broken seal could possibly be the cause of the strange temperature and draft. It seemed to be intact, from what he could tell, however. How weird. The churning in his stomach intensified and he could feel his heart begin to thud heavily.

Then the door slammed shut with an echoing bang and Ichigo jumped yet again, knocking his forehead against the glass. He swore softly and heard faint chuckling sound from behind him.

"Very funny, Shiro," he said, rolling his eyes, "I could have given myself a concussion-" his words died in his throat when he realised that the door was firmly shut and no one else was in the room.

Ichigo didn't necessarily deny the existence of supernatural forces. The fact that his mind went to this conclusion first spoke volumes, however. But, he would prefer not to come into contact with any ghosts. He swallowed thickly and stumbled to the door. Maybe they shouldn't use this room for the time being. His spine tingled and he could have sworn that he felt something watching him as he left the room.

He still felt a prickly feeling along his spine when he went back down stairs. He tried to shake it off by rubbing his palms up and down his arms, but it was as if the cold had seeped into his bones.

"Cold?" Toushiro asked entering the house with a box in his arms, "We could turn the AC down; it doesn't need to be blasting as hard as it is now anyway."

Ichigo shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Do you need help with that?"

Toushiro allowed him to take the box and went back out to the car for another. Ichigo put the box down near the staircase, hoping that Toushiro didn't want to unpack everything right away. As he was straightening up he felt a cool pair of lips brush against his cheeks. He started slightly before he realised that it was his husband.

Toushiro had jerked back with a small frown on his face and muttered a quiet apology. Ichigo forced a smile before grabbing his husband by the waist and hugging him. Toushiro sighed softly and Ichigo felt him relax into the hug.

"Sorry about earlier," Toushiro said softly, "forgot to take my... uh... my pills."

Ichigo hugged him tighter. "It's okay. So, do we have to unpack all of this right now?"

Toushiro snorted quietly and patted Ichigo's chest. "No, we can tackle it later; I'm still kind of sleepy."

Ichigo kissed his temple. "Great, I wanted to check out the town nearby, but if you're tired we could always-"

"No, you can go ahead."

"You sure? We could also swing by the school to see what it's like."

"I don't want to think about work now. Go Ichigo; I'm just going to take a nap, don't worry."

Ichigo stooped down to peck Toushiro's nose. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

...

It took Ichigo thirty minutes to get to the small town. A rickety welcome sign was the only real indication that he had arrived. It looked like the typical rural village with small brick and wooden buildings, churches with steeples, telephone poles, and narrow streets with cobble stone sidewalks. Ichigo grinned, as far flung as the town was it seemed very welcoming. A few towns people stopped and stared as he drove past, recognising him as a stranger. Ichigo couldn't help but feel a bit nervous; he didn't know anyone here. He drove around for a few more minutes mentally cataloguing places like the post office and a few small restaurants.

Toushiro would probably be hungry by the time he got back, but he knew that he wouldn't want to go out to eat. He was getting better, but it was still hard to persuade him to leave the house for anything other than work. Maybe picking something up from the grocery market would be the best option. He thought he had seen one but when he turned around he couldn't seem to find it. Chewing the inside of his cheek he pulled up next to a group of women who were walking towards him and called out the window, hopping that they didn't think he was some creep.

"Uh, hi, sorry to disturb you, but do you know where I can find a grocery store?"

"Sure," one of them answered brightly, "keep going down this street then make a left on Oak Avenue. It's the first building you see on your right."

Ichigo smiled. Their accents were thick, but it added to the rustic atmosphere of the town. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

As he drove off he saw her turn to her friends and say something that caused them to follow his car with their eyes. The grocery store was just where she said it would be, but he had almost passed straight by not realising that it would be so small. The shelves turned out to be stocked with generic brands that he had never heard of, but the fresh food section was amazing. Well, that was a plus at least, he could get a lot of fresh meat and produce here – and maybe finally start that diet that he read about a few months ago.

Ichigo set down his basket to examine a few heads of broccoli.

"I wouldn't take any of those; they're a few weeks old," a friendly voice said from beside him.

"Oh," Ichigo mumbled, unsure what else to say.

"You're new here, right? I don't think I've ever seen you around."

"Yeah," he turned and held out his hand, "I'm Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya."

A young man in a bright yellow apron took his hand a shook it. "You're the ones who just moved into that house on Morrison Drive, the new school teacher?"

Ichigo blinked, but it was a small town news would travel around. "Yes, but it's my partner that's the teacher."

The clerk tilted his head. "I thought it was a man they hired."

"Oh, he is..."

There was a short pause in which Ichigo fumbled with the head of broccoli.

"You're one of them gays?"

Ichigo hesitated; the way the clerk had phrased that did not leave him with a comforting feeling. He had never hidden the fact that he was gay from anyone, but San Francisco was sure to be way more liberal than rural Wyoming. He had heard horror stories about small towns like this. "Yeah, hope that won't be a problem."

The clerk smiled. "Nah, well, for me at least. Anyway, you'd be best off with this," he handed Ichigo a different head of broccoli from a basket near his feet.

"Thanks..." he glanced to the name plate pinned to his apron, "Richard..."

"No problem... ah what's your name again."

"Ichigo."

"You're not American?"

He smothered an annoyed sigh. "I am, my Dad's from Japan though."

"Oh, we got another Asian family living on Morrison Drive too. You guys should meet up."

Ichigo nodded. He was sure Richard didn't mean to offend, but the comments still rubbed Ichigo the wrong way. He tried not to show his annoyance as he thanked the clerk once more. He could have been a lot worse from what he understood about small, isolated towns, especially if they were religious, so he knew better than to complain.

...

"Hey, Shiro, I bought some wine," Ichigo called as he entered the house, "we should celebrate the move." There was no response. "Shiro?"

He was probably still sleeping, so Ichigo put the groceries in the kitchen and circled through the dining room and back out to the living room. Toushiro had brought out a few more boxes from the car and set them near the couch, but Ichigo stopped short when he saw that one of the boxes was ripped open and the contents strewn all over the floor. He sighed as he bent over to clear up the items. Had an animal gotten in or something? The door had been unlocked when he came back –

Something crunched under his foot and he glanced downward to see a few shards of glass strewn about. And, of course, he wouldn't remember where he had packed the cleaning supplies. Rolling his eyes he stepped away from the glass only to see a broken picture frame and a photograph lying face down. He picked up the picture and dusted it off with his sleeve before flipping it over. It was then that he knew that an animal hadn't got in. He tucked the photograph into his back pocket before turning to the rest of the mess.

A patchwork blanket was strewn over the couch, several toy trucks were scattered about the floor, a few pairs of tiny pants and shirts lay half folded near the box, and a little slip-on sneaker lay on its side – Ichigo spied its twin on the opposite side of the living room. He clenched his palms and felt a pang in his chest and his throat constricted a bit, but above all that he felt frustration. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths to make sure that he voice wouldn't tremble.

"Toushiro!" he yelled, then waited a few minutes. He heard light footsteps descend the stairs and his husband entered the living room.

"Oh, you're back I didn't hear-" he froze mid sentence, teal-blue eyes widening as they went from the open box at Ichigo's feet to the baby things strewn over the room. "Ichigo, what the hell did you do?"

"What did _I_ do? I came home to this mess. What did you do while I was gone?"

Toushiro wrapped his arms around his stomach. "I thought we were leaving this stuff behind. How did it get here?" his voice trembled.

"Shiro-"

"You brought it? After I explicitly told you not to?"

"Toushiro-"

"No, Ichigo, no. I can't..." he backed out of the living room.

"Okay, I get why you're mad, but did you really have to throw stuff around?"

Toushiro blinked, "I didn't do this."

"Then who the hell did?"

Toushiro covered his eyes with a hand and took a few unsteady breaths. "I told you to get rid of this stuff." He turned and left the room. "Clean this up; I can't look at any of it."

Ichigo growled softly. "You know, we have to talk about this sooner or later; you can't keep on avoiding the subject!"

He clenched his fists when he received no response. He wouldn't deny that things had been difficult lately, but he was honestly trying his best to make things better. He had pushed and encouraged Toushiro through it all; progress had been slow but he had never once given up. But now, he felt like there wasn't anything else he could do. He shuffled to the couch, pulled out the photograph from his pocket, and ran his fingers over the image. A lone tear rolled down his cheek and he brushed it away before it could signal others to follow.

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><p><strong>Annnd cue tragic back stories...<strong>

**Just wanna say that this will be M rated, but not explicit. **

**Also moved from the typical Japanese setting, because I wanted to do something a bit more culturally diverse, and experiment with characters of different races and all the lovely learning opportunities and not so lovely prejudices that go along with it.**

**So, I hope you guys enjoy it thus far and please tell me what you think. Any feedback is welcome. **

**-Mymomomo**


	2. Meet and Greet

**Thanks to those who reviewed and followed/favourited last time. **

**All I can say is all the questions you have will be answered soon (those were the exact questions I wanted you to ask)**

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><p>Ichigo didn't sleep well at all that night. No matter which way he turned, fluffed his pillow, or arranged the blankets around his body he could not fall asleep. Something felt off. It wasn't the silence of the house; the lack of sirens wailing was something he thought that he would never miss. Yet, he would have preferred that to the eerie creaking of the old house or the scratching of a tree branch on the window. He shut his eyes, hoping that sleep would soon find him, but he only succeeded in waking Toushiro a couple of times.<p>

He thought that he had drifted off some time after midnight. He must have, because there was a weird shadow at the foot of the bed and he remembered waking with a jolt and startling Toushiro from sleep. The albino had fixed him with an annoyed, but tired, stare before drifting off seconds later. Ichigo tried punching his pillow again and settling on his side and he came the closest he had to falling asleep that night.

Ichigo always believed that the strangest dreams came when you were in the stage right before sleep took over. How else would he explain what felt like icy fingers running down his neck? His eyes snapped open and he rolled into Toushiro, who woke with a frustrated huff.

"Ichigo, again?" he muttered, rolling over to face his husband, "What's wrong?"

The redhead paused. "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

Toushiro shot him a withering glare. "I'm trying, but someone keeps on waking me up."

"I just feel weird."

"Sick?"

"No, just strange."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow.

"It's probably just the new environment. Go back to sleep, babe."

Toushiro sighed and nuzzled into his pillow. He was snoring softly not a minute later. The corners of Ichigo's mouth twitched upwards and he shut his eyes, trying once more to fall asleep. The cold fingers started running up and down his spine shortly afterwards and he jerked away with a panicked grunt.

"Ichigo," Toushiro growled, his eyes still shut, "I have work in a few hours."

"Yeah, sorry." He sat up, rubbing his face and hopped out of bed. Toushiro cracked open an eye to see what he was doing. "Can't sleep," he explained as he padded out of the bedroom. He heard Toushiro huff again and pull the blankets over his head.

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck while he waited for the coffee to brew. It was still dark out, but he doubted that he would be able to sleep. He could still feel the strange cold feeling on his spine. Frowning, he pressed his fingertips to the nape of his neck, aside from a few goose bumps, his skin was smooth and clear. What the hell was that, he asked himself, why would he dream of cold fingers? And why couldn't he get to sleep? He was exhausted and couldn't wait to get to bed yesterday. The drive to the house had been long, and he had spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and unpacking boxes. But lying in bed had felt weird, he couldn't think of any other word to describe it.

The coffee machine began to hiss and the kitchen was filled with the rich smell of dark-roast coffee. He poured out a giant mug and wondered into the living room. A floor board creaked under his weight and he plopped himself down on the couch with a long sigh. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into his mug off coffee for what felt like ages. The only sound was the loud ticking of the clock on the mantle and soon enough it began to drive Ichigo crazy. He glared at the ornate metal hands wondering how passing time could be so agitating. Well, given that he was sitting around doing nothing he was bound to be agitated.

A cool breeze blew through the room and the loose floorboard creaked. A shiver ran up his spine for the umpteenth time that night – morning – and he looked around, hopping that Toushiro had entered the living room.

"Shiro?" he called softly, but there was no answer. He took a large gulp of coffee, managing to scald his tongue and throat and reached for the patchwork blanket that was still strewn over the back of the couch.

The floorboard creaked again and Ichigo's stomach jolted. He slowly turned to the entrance only to be met with shadows. His heart hammered and his gut churned all the while he cursed every horror movie he could think of and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Eventually he convinced himself to get up and turn on all the lights possible and he sat down on the middle of the couch with his computer on his lap and earbuds in, blasting music to drown out the silence of the house.

...

There was a slight tremor in Toushiro's hands as he forked some scrambled eggs into his mouth. Ichigo hid a frown and concentrated on his own hands. Sometimes he wondered if all those side effects were worth taking medication, but he had to admit that there was an improvement in his husband's behaviour. The number of 'dark days' Toushiro had was becoming less and less.

"Are you nervous about school?" Ichigo asked, hoping to break the silence.

Toushiro set his fork down and took a sip of coffee. "A little, I suppose."

"You shouldn't be; you'll do great."

Toushiro nodded and went back to his eggs.

"Which tie are you wearing?" Ichigo asked after a few beats.

Toushiro's brow dipped minutely and he glanced down at his white button-up and grey slacks. "I don't know."

"You should do the green one. I think black would scare the kids, and first impressions are everything after all."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "Okay, green it is."

"You should probably wear a blazer too. It's the first day and all."

"Ichigo," Toushiro growled in annoyance. "I know how to dress."

Ichigo held his hands up in submission. "Sorry. It's just that you haven't been at work for a while now-"

He shot Ichigo a death glare. "I know. I haven't forgotten how to dress myself."

"I didn't say that you did-"

Toushiro abruptly pushed back his chair from the table and brought his dishes to the sink.

Ichigo sighed internally and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "I'll get that," he said when Toushiro started to wash his plate, "You go finish getting ready."

Toushiro dropped the plate with a loud clunk and left the kitchen without another word. Ichigo sighed aloud this time and rested his head in his hands, his appetite suddenly gone.

He emptied his plate into the garbage bin under the sink and ripped open a packet of sponges. He had washed all the dishes and wiped down the kitchen table by the time Toushiro came back down stairs dressed in an emerald green tie and blazer and held a brief case in one hand.

"I'm off," he said called.

"Don't forget your lunch."

He poked his head into the kitchen. "You made me lunch?"

Ichigo jerked his head to a brown paper bag sitting on the counter.

Toushiro's mouth flickered into a smile for a second. "Thank you," he said, picking up the bag.

Ichigo nodded. "And you're forgetting something else."

"I am?"

Ichigo pointedly raised his eyebrows and Toushiro sighed before coming over to his husband and stretching up on his toes. Ichigo bent down and delivered a quick kiss to Toushiro's cheek.

"Have a great first day," he said, pulling his face into a smile.

"I'll try." He retreated from the kitchen but paused by the front door. "Are you going to be okay here without a car?"

"Yeah," Ichigo said shrugging, "I'll probably end up unpacking a bit more and maybe do some writing."

"If you have a problem, call me."

"Yup."

Ichigo heard the car start up a few minutes later then the crunch of gravel as Toushiro drove down the driveway. And just like that, he was all alone in the big, creepy house.

Ichigo couldn't take the silence. He fished out a pair of speakers from one of the boxes he had moved to his office and plugged them into his laptop as he went about re-arranging the furniture and moving around boxes. The living room was more or less done; after Toushiro's storm yesterday he had re-packed everything except the patchwork blanket and spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the furniture. He had put up pictures on the mantle: a professional shot of him and Toushiro on their wedding day, an old photo of him and his younger sisters when they were kids, a shot of the Kurosaki family plus Toushiro, and a picture of a chubby, smiling baby. He was hesitant in putting up the last picture. When Toushiro saw it he would throw a fit, but Ichigo couldn't bring himself to hide the photo back in the box. It was something they needed to talk about, and having the picture on the mantle would serve as a constant reminder, or at least that was what Ichigo would like to think.

He spent the rest of the morning unpacking kitchen utensils and organising the cupboards, and brewed himself another cup of coffee afterwards. He decided to tackle the bedroom and his office after a quick break for lunch – a salad made from the fresh vegetables he had bought yesterday.

"The bedroom it is then," he muttered to himself and relocated his laptop and music to the master bedroom. He started with by putting their clothes into the closet but he hadn't got very much done when his cell phone rang. He laid down a few of Toushiro's jackets on the bed before answering the phone, feeling a tinge of relief upon seeing a picture of his father light up the screen.

"Hey, dad," he said, grinning. "What's up?"

"I should be asking you that," his father's voice sounded a bit muffled.

"Are you driving?"

"No, it's Karin's turn. I just wanted to ask how the house was. Everything okay?"

Ichigo sat down on the edge of the bed and brought one of his feet up against the bedpost. "Yeah, I still can't believe how cheap they sold it to us. It's just like it was in the pictures, if anything I'd say it's a bit bigger."

"Bigger?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm happy it turned out alright. Unpacking going okay?"

"Yup, I'm almost done. I just need the stuff you guys are bringing."

"We should be there soon. How's Toushiro?"

Ichigo hesitated and picked at a loose thread on the bed sheet. "He started work today."

"Yes, but how _is _he?"

"He's... he's pretty much the same. I mean, you can tell he's getting better, but the doctor said progress will be slow."

His father sighed heavily.

"Hang in there, Ichigo," he heard his sister, Yuzu, speak up.

"Am I on speaker?"

"Yup," his other sister, Karin, shouted.

"Guys, you know I don't like that," he muttered.

"Stop being such a baby," Karin teased, "anyway, I'd say we have about 9 more hours before we get to Wyoming. You think you can handle it for that long?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "He's my husband, geez, you guys talk about him like he's a yoke around my neck."

There was a bloated pause.

"Guys..." Ichigo huffed.

"Well," Yuzu began, "we know how hard it's been since... the accident. We don't want you to stress yourself out... again."

"If it gets to be too much, call us." Karin instructed.

The thread broke away from the sheet. "I'm fine, he's fine. Yes, things have been a little tense, but like I said; he's getting better."

"We believe you, son," his father said. Ichigo could practically hear the smile in his voice. He was about to smile back when he heard a grating noise, like someone was dragging something heavy across the floor. A cold shiver travelled up his spine again and he strained his ears, hopping that he was hearing things.

"Ichigo..." his father questioned, "are you okay."

Ichigo blinked realising that his father had been talking for some time. "Uh what did you..." the dragging noise started again, this time louder. "Sorry, dad, I uh... I think I hear something I should probably check out. Call you later?"

"Yeah, we'll be sitting in a car all day, so whatever suits you."

"Okay, bye guys."

"Bye, Ichigo," his sisters sang.

He swallowed loudly as he pressed the end call button and slowly turned towards the door. His heart leapt into his mouth when the dragging started again.

"What the hell?" he muttered. Had something gotten into the house? He slid his phone into his pocket and slowly stood up. The realtor really should have told him how many odd noises this house made. The dragging noise started again and Ichigo took a deep breath before going to investigate. He slowly pushed the door to the bedroom open and stared out into the empty hallway.

He had yet to roll down the long rug that was supposed to line the hallway, so his footsteps echoed slightly with a staccato of thuds. The dragging seemed to be coming from one of the other bedrooms; maybe a door had blown open. He shook his head; there was probably a logical explanation for the noise. He was only freaking himself out; he was tired and running on coffee, of course he would be a bit jumpy. He ran his fingertips along the wall as he walked along the hallway; the dragging noise sounded again, but abruptly stopped once he stood outside the door to the last room. Ichigo couldn't stop his stomach from churning; it was the room with the weird stain and AC problem. Of course it would be, he sighed.

He held his breath as he pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside. When he saw what lay on the other side he froze, his feet turned into lead. The room was set up; furniture, bedding, drapes, and rugs were immaculately put into place. Ichigo's breath caught in his throat and he stood motionless, staring at the familiar set up. A tiny bed with a guard rail was placed across from the window, next to that was a miniature desk with crayons strewn across the surface. Green drapes hung around the window, blowing gently in an unknown breeze, and the bed was messily made; fluffy, green blankets were lumpy as if hiding toys and stuffed animals underneath.

Ichigo took a deep breath, trying to stave off the wetness that had sprung to his eyes. His hands trembled as he wrapped them around himself. What kind of messed up dream was this? It had to be a dream; Toushiro would have never set up the room like this. He could barely even look at pictures, much less touch old furniture. Ichigo shuffled to the bed and ran a hand along the blanket; it was ice cold, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had found it frozen solid. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away. In the corner a shaggy rug had been thrown over the stain on the floor, but Ichigo could have sworn that it was seeping through the fabric; a deep, dark, blood red. The room started to spin a bit and his stomach was threatening to make him sick. He put a hand against the wall to steady himself, but now his head was spinning to match the room. He stumbled to the doorway and managed to bump into the dresser and almost knocked over a full length mirror that had been leaning against the wall. He caught the glass, but went tumbling to his knees. Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, trying to stop the colours from swirling around his vision. In the back of his mind he could hear tiny footsteps running around the room, and childish laughter coupled with the sound of clapping.

_Daddy, look at me!_

His eyes stung and he gagged. Goose bumps rose on his arms and legs, but it wasn't from the cold this time. No, not this. He hadn't had these dreams in a while, and he was glad for it; they were painful and had him feeling off for days on end. The childish voice sung and the little feet pattered around the room, playing.

_Daddy, daddy, daddy!_

Ichigo covered his mouth with his hands and cracked open his eyes. A salty tear dripped down his cheek. He didn't expect to see anything, especially not a young boy jumping around the room; it was all in his head. The voices, the sounds, the furniture; everything was just a memory. He raised his head, still facing the mirror, and saw a small, dark shadow move in the corner of his vision.

"Ken!" he shouted, his voice breaking. He shot to his feet and succeeded in falling off the couch.

Ichigo groaned rubbing his bruised back and looked around in confusion. He was lying on the floor between the couch and coffee table. A half eaten salad sat next to his dead laptop and the patchwork blanket was wrapped around his legs. He sat up, dragging his hands down his face, wiping away the wetness around his eyes. Of course, it was a dream; he had probably fallen asleep when he was taking a break from cleaning. He took a deep, calming breath and hoisted himself back up onto the couch. His head was spinning slightly and his limbs were stiff and clumsy, moving seconds after he meant to. He hunched over, with his head in his hands and sat completely still for a few minutes, just breathing evenly. He hated having dreams like that; he hated remembering, it was worse than –

The doorbell rang, causing him to jump out of his skin. It took Ichigo almost a minute to calm himself; since when did the house have a doorbell? After smoothing down his wrinkled shirt and pausing to finger comb his hair he answered the door, hopping that he didn't look like a complete mess and that his smile wasn't too forced.

An odd looking couple stood on the other side of the door. When he said odd he was referring to the fact that the man was over six feet tall with tattoos and bright red, spiked hair while the woman was petite and wore a string of pearls around her neck and a pink, floral dress with a white cardigan.

"Uh, hi," Ichigo said brightly once he had found his voice.

The man stretched out his hand and Ichigo hesitated minutely before grasping it in a firm shake. "Hi, I'm Renji Abarai and this is my wife, Rukia. We're your neighbours." He smiled widely.

"Oh neighbours, I didn't know we had neighbours." Ichigo scratched the back of his neck.

Renji chuckled. "Well there is a distance of a few miles between us; we're not really neighbours per say-"

"We live at 11 Morrison," Rukia cut him off. "Anyway, I hope we're not intruding, but we just wanted to introduce ourselves and bring over a little gift." She held out a plate of cookies.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Ichigo chuckled, "Why don't you guys come in." He stepped to the side and allowed them to enter. "Sorry, it's a mess; I'm still in the process of unpacking." He led them to the living room, blushing as he rushed to pick up his dirty plate and laptop from the coffee table.

"It's not a problem, looks better than our house on a good day," Renji joked. Rukia slapped him on the arm.

"That's not true; we're not messy at all... Oh, that's not to say your house is messy... um"

"Ichigo, sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya."

Renji nodded. "So Ichigo, what do you think of the place so far?"

"Uh, it's quiet and it's going to take some time to get used to. But I think I'll grow to like it."

Rukia smiled. "The quiet is nice most of the time. We went to New York once; I hated how every minute you could hear someone shouting, or some commotion going on around the corner."

"And the sirens were terrible," Renji added.

Ichigo smiled. "I'm from San Francisco, it's not as bad as New York, but I guess after all the city noises it's hard to get used to the quiet; feels like something is missing."

Renji whistled, "San Francisco? What a move, huh? Can I ask why?"

Ichigo chewed the inside of his cheek. "Uh, my partner found a job at the high school here. And I guess we needed a new atmosphere. Some stuff happed that we needed to get away from."

Rukia glared at her husband who just shrugged guiltily.

"Can I get you guys anything to drink?" Ichigo asked, "Uh, we don't have much yet... oh wait, I got a bottle of wine yesterday, if you're interested in that."

They agreed to wine and Ichigo left to grab the bottle and a couple of glasses. As he left he heard Rukia whisper harshly to Renji.

"You don't just ask someone something like that; you could tell how uncomfortable he was answering."

Ichigo felt his cheeks heat and at the same time a sharp pang in his gut.

He ended up talking to Rukia and Renji for most of the afternoon. Renji offered to help him move some boxes and Rukia helped to tidy up some of the rooms. He hooked up the music again and when the sky began to turn into a dusky orange they had set up his office and were working on the exercising equipment in the basement. Rukia had perched herself on a Swiss ball and was reading the building instructions aloud while Ichigo and Renji bickered amongst various parts of a dismantled treadmill.

"I hope all of this fancy workout stuff isn't just for show," Renji smirked.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't spend all this money on something to not use it. Of course I workout."

"Maybe Renji can join you some time," Rukia said with a malicious smirk, "he's been growing a bit of pudge lately."

"I have not," Renji exclaimed then turned to Ichigo. "She thinks our marriage is a free licence to insult me."

Rukia stuck out her tongue at him.

"You're preaching to the choir," Ichigo held up his left hand and pointed to the ring on his finger.

Renji's eyebrows shot up and a deep chuckle bubbled up from his chest. Ichigo couldn't help but grin, wondering what was so funny. He glanced to Rukia who simply rolled her eyes.

"We should get drinks sometime," Renji chuckled, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah, that sounds great-"

"Ichigo? Where are you?" a voice called from upstairs. Ichigo's sentence died on his tongue and he turned to the stairs.

"Oh, looks like Toushiro's home," he said, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Come I'll introduce you."

He saw Renji turn to Rukia with a questioning look in his eyes and he mouthed Toushiro's name. Ichigo felt his shoulders slump; he really liked Renji and Rukia and hoped that they didn't have any problems with him being gay. He led them back upstairs and they met Toushiro pulling off his shoes by the stairs.

"Whose car is that in the driveway?" Toushiro asked upon seeing Ichigo, but then his eyes flew to Rukia and Renji when they emerged from the basement. He straightened and eyed them with an impassive face.

"This is Rukia and Renji Abarai, our neighbours," Ichigo said, placing a hand on Toushiro's shoulder. Then turning back to the Abarais, "And this is Toushiro, my husband."

"Husband?" Renji Echoed and Rukia not so subtly stomped on his foot.

Ichigo felt Toushiro tense beside him. "Is there anything wrong with that?" Toushiro challenged.

"No, not at all." Renji held up his hands. "I just assumed you were a woman when Ichigo said you worked at the school."

"So just because I work in education I can't be a man?"

"Shiro..." Ichigo sighed.

Rukia elbowed Renji in the ribs. "What he meant is that people here are very old fashioned, the concept of a male teacher is still foreign to them. I think there are only three male teachers currently on staff... well four including-"

"I'm not a teacher; I'm the vice principal."

"Oh... "Rukia blushed in embarrassment, "Sorry for assuming..." she trailed off when Toushiro folded his arms across his chest.

Ichigo gently tapped Toushiro on his shoulder. "It's alright, Rukia. We understand the stereotypes; it's kind of like the concept of male nurses, right?"

Rukia seemed to be minutely relieved, but Renji was now eyeing Toushiro with a hint of derision. Ichigo sighed inwardly, wishing that Toushiro would be the least bit civil.

"So, how was work, Shiro?" Ichigo asked, hoping to save the conversation. "Hope everyone was _nice_." He emphasised the word by pointedly squeezing his husband's shoulder.

Toushiro unfolded his arms. "Has Ichigo offered you anything to eat or drink?"

They refused the refreshments, explaining that Ichigo had already been a generous host, but Toushiro insisted and said he would prepare something anyway. More than likely he wanted to be alone for a while to regain his bearings.

They settled once more in the living room and Toushiro returned shortly with a plate of crackers and cheese and a bowl of fruit.

"So, forgive me for being so blunt," Renji began, "and I don't mean any offence, but how do people react when they find out you're gay. I know there are some people here who are against it, but I'm sure this little backwards town is much different than San Francisco. When our girls first went to boarding school it was a bit of a shock to learn of all the different lifestyles."

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, well we haven't really met many people yet, but no one's been outright rude to us. Right, Shiro?"

"There were a few parents at the school who were a bit _concerned_, but I didn't deal with them too much today. I'll sure they'll be back later, though."

There were a few minutes of silence where Rukia glanced around the room, and Renji seemed interested in picking apart a gape. Ichigo sent a pointed gaze to Toushiro who just shrugged and looked away.

"Oh, you have kids?" Rukia asked suddenly, going over to the mantle to get a closer look at the photographs.

Toushiro drew in a sharp breath and turned to Ichigo with fire in his eyes. Rukia turned back to them when she heard Toushiro and her cheeks turned pink.

"Um, sorry, was that a bad question?"

Ichigo sighed, while Toushiro began to shake beside him, he fisted the fabric of his pants so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"No, it's... uh," Ichigo took a deep breath. "We had a son... but he... uh he-"

Toushiro snarled softly and turned towards the Abarais. "It's none of your business."

"Toushiro," Ichigo admonished, placing a hand on his husband's arm to calm him down. Toushiro shook it off and got to his feet.

"And I would appreciate it if you both would leave."

"Toushiro!"

He turned to Ichigo breathing heavily. His face was paler than normal and his eyes were slightly misty. He sent him a venomous glare before storming from the living room. Rukia and Renji were awkwardly frozen in one spot.

Ichigo breathed forcefully through his nose. "Sorry, about him. He still takes Ken's death hard..."

Renji got up and wrapped an arm around Rukia's shoulders. "Nah, we're sorry for asking..."

Ichigo hung his head. "Still... that was embarrassing. He didn't mean any of it; he's just really emotional."

"It's okay, Ichigo, but we should... uh... we should probably get going now," Renji said, haltingly.

Ichigo nodded.

"Can I still call you about getting drinks?"

Ichigo's eyes widened but he nodded with a sad smile. "Yeah, of course. Please do actually; I think I'll go crazy in the house all by myself."

Renji patted his shoulder as they left. Ichigo wandered over to one of the windows and pressed his forehead against the glace. He suddenly felt exhausted and a hard lump had formed in his throat. So, he did the only logical thing he could think of and reached into his pocket for his cell. He pulled up a number before his vision got too blurry and hit call.

"Hey, Ichigo." His father's voice was cheery and Ichigo felt himself break apart. "Ichigo? Ichigo what happened, son; is everything alright?"

"No."

* * *

><p><strong>So I got a little excited while typing this and it turned out longer than expected.<strong>

** I want a really tense atmosphere, so if the characters are a little OOC I apologise. They are trying to cope with serious trauma. Also, Toushiro being an albino is my way of trying to turn crazy anime character appearances into sometime more realistic (I say as I attempt to write a story with ghosts)**

**I would be really grateful if you guys tell me what you think so far.**

**-Mymomomo**


	3. First Signs

"If you'll excuse me, it's starting to rain and I'd rather not get wet," Toushiro said curtly when he felt a few raindrops on his face.

The bird-like woman pursed her lips as he got into his car. He hadn't meant to snap, but he was tired. And when he was tired being polite was the last thing on his mind.

"My email is posted on the school website," he added in an effort to rectify the situation, lest she start talking about how he was homosexual _and_ rude. "If you feel the need to discuss anything further then you can contact me there."

She narrowed her eyes at him but scampered to the shelter of her own car to avoid the incoming shower. When he could no longer see the woman he leaned heavily against the back of his seat and closed his eyes. He was completely exhausted; the past two days had been nothing but a bombardment of _concerned _parents. He knew that anything short of putting his entire personal life on display would be futile, but he was not willing to do that. This particular woman was at the head of the pack of do-gooder, religious, home-makers. She had nothing better to do than make snide remarks about his sexuality and protest his position. Sure enough, Gabriel Heathers High was under fire for hiring him, even if his credentials should have put any qualms to rest. A few board members and the principal had told him not to worry, or take any action; his position was secure and the number of _concerned_ individuals was only a fraction of the school population. Hiring someone like him showed that the school was forward-thinking and progressive. Toushiro's skin had itched upon hearing that. He was gay, yes, not a collector's item. Still, he had to assure more than a few parents that he was not going to interfere with any of their children; he was happi- he was married for fuck's sake. And he was good at working with children, so when someone made that insinuation just because of his sexual orientation it made him physically sick.

It had been a long two days, indeed. The rain was coming down heavily now and he grumbled as he started the car. He really was not looking forward to the long drive home in this weather. The roads weren't that great and visibility was sure to be poor. He wiped his palms on his pants before gripping the staring-wheel. Maybe he should stop for coffee before heading home; he was feeling particularly worn-down and didn't completely trust himself not to fall asleep at the wheel. Ichigo wouldn't be very happy if he got into another accident.

The drive back home was surprisingly uneventful. It was a little challenging, but Toushiro was practically the only one on the road. The large, log house sat in darkness when he pulled into the driveway. Toushiro's stomach churned slightly and he ground his teeth. Ichigo had probably fallen asleep and forgotten to turn on the lights. He hated when he did that; it was unsafe and anyone could sneak up on him. He grabbed his briefcase and made a dash for the front door. It was still raining pretty heavily and mud splashed up onto his pants and covered his shoes.

"Ichigo, I'm home," he called as he unlocked the door and wiped his feet on the mat. He was met with silence. "Ichigo?" He flipped on the lights in the foyer and poked his head into the living room. His husband wasn't asleep on the couch, though his laptop was open on the coffee table. Toushiro huffed in annoyance and stomped into the kitchen. He was about to call for Ichigo once more when he saw a piece of notebook paper on the island.

_Gone out with Renji; I'll be back late._

Toushiro crumpled the note in his fist and tossed it into the trash. Why couldn't he have just texted him? Sometimes Ichigo really didn't think. He pulled out a carton of yogurt from the fridge and put the kettle on the stove. Ichigo, while not a particularly out-going or sociable person, tended to make friends very easily. Despite how Toushiro had acted, Renji seemed to see something in his husband. And, never one to sit still, Ichigo jumped on any excuse to leave the house, almost as if he hated it. He probably did hate it; he had been fine in San Francisco. He could have stayed there without a problem. Toushiro chewed the inside of his cheek. If only he hadn't forced them to move, if only he had been strong enough to stop himself from falling apart. He shouldn't have dragged Ichigo into his misery.

A sharp sting in the side of his mouth broke his trail of thoughts and he tasted blood. He rubbed at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to soothe the pain. Toushiro felt sick to his stomach; it clenched painfully and he wanted to vomit. He switched off the stove and threw away his nearly-full yogurt before shuffling upstairs. A shower would probably help him feel better. Probably.

The master bathroom was almost as large as their bedroom. A white, porcelain tub took up one wall and a shower, with frosted, glass doors, was set across from it. Rain splattered nosily against the huge windows. He was not comfortable with having floor to ceiling windows in such an intimate area. Even if sparse woods separated them from their neighbours, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, especially at night.

Toushiro had no idea where Ichigo had pulled all the money for this house from. He had said that it was dirt cheap, but Toushiro couldn't help but feel that he was hiding something. His books did bring in a decent amount of cash, and ever since his second movie adaptation was released they had bit more money than they knew what to do with. But, not nearly enough to buy this _villa_ and its surrounding land. Ichigo brushed him off every time he asked, though.

He roughly unknotted his tie, frowning at his trembling hands. He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady them, but he knew that it wasn't going to work. It was with an incredible amount of focus that he managed to remove his contact lenses and not gouge out his eyes. His jaw clenched tightly as he removed his shirt next, surreptitiously looking over his shoulder at the window. Even with his blurry vision, his ribs seemed more prominent that night, sharply jutting from under his skin, and it looked like he could cut a steak with his hipbones. Toushiro was disgusted with himself; he ripped his eyes away from his body and shut them against the nausea that was building in his stomach. His body betrayed just how truly weak he was, while his mind was reliant on the very medication that had caused him to shake and lose his appetite. He clenched his palms when the nausea didn't abate. With a few shaky breaths he finished undressing and hastily stepped into the shower.

The frosted glass provided good enough cover as any. If he couldn't see out of it very well then no one could see in. He lathered a bar of soap and scrubbed his body, pointedly ignoring all the protruding bones that hadn't been there a few months ago. The warm water made him feel marginally better. It loosened tight muscles and offered him a small respite against his thoughts. His mind cleared as he methodically scrubbed his skin, and for once he was able to think of nothing. He didn't think of how hard reacquainting himself to work was, or of the intrusive parents or their religious, brainwashed children. He neither thought of how many times he snapped at his husband, nor how he almost broke down crying that day. He did not think about how his father was right in saying that the world would be better without him. And he certainly did not think of how he had failed himself, Ichigo, and Ken.

The sound of a door opening was barely audible over the sound of the shower and rain.

"Ichigo?" he called, but once again there was no answer. Had the man gone deaf? Toushiro ground his teeth as a spark of annoyance ignited in his chest. He fought it down; it wasn't Ichigo's fault if he didn't hear him. This wasn't something to get mad over. He breathed deeply and stepped back under the shower only to find out that it had gone cold. He jumped out from under the spray, cursing under his breath. The hot water shouldn't have run out that fast. Goose-bumps rose up all over his body as he reached out to shut off the water. As he turned the tap he heard a clunk come from somewhere in the bathroom.

He rolled his eyes and tried to stave off his shivering by folding his arms across his chest. "Ichigo, how many times do I have to say it? Don't watch me when I shower; it's creepy." He cracked the shower door open and yanked his towel from the rack. "Why didn't you answer me when you came in?"

Once again Ichigo said nothing. This time Toushiro allowed himself to feel a little miffed. He wrapped his towel around his waist and wrenched the glass door open. "Ichigo, why-"

The bathroom was empty. Toushiro frowned deeply; he could have sworn that he heard someone. His cheeks heated slightly as he went over to the sink and clumsily took his toothbrush from its holder. He hoped he wasn't starting to hear things. Another side effect that he didn't want to deal with? The doctors hadn't mentioned hallucinating, though, and they had gone through long lists.

He sighed tiredly as he rinsed his mouth and set his toothbrush back down. How late did Ichigo plan on staying out anyway? Toushiro wondered and pulled out a prescription bottle from the drawer beside the sink. He carefully tipped a blue and white capsule into his palm and stared at it for a few moments before grimacing and knocking it back with a glass of water. He hated having to be on medication, he hated the side effects, always feeling tired, shaking, and sometimes nauseated. He closed his eyes and leaned against the counter, willing his stomach not to reject the few spoons of yogurt he'd eaten. He took a few steadying breaths and when he opened his eyes he stumbled backwards in shock.

"What the fuck?" he muttered. Had he blacked out and not noticed? He had been in the bathroom when he closed his eyes a second ago and now he was in a bedroom. He squinted as he looked around, making out familiar, child-sized furniture.

His stomach plummeted. He wanted to retch. His chest tightened. Toushiro stumbled backwards into the door as if he had been physically struck. This was Ken's room. The bed, the desk, even the fluffy, green blanket all belonged to his son. What was he doing in Ken's room? Or rather, what was Ken's room doing here? He told Ichigo not to bring anything to do with Ken. He couldn't handle it. He knew he would break down again when the memories came flooding back and he remembered what he had done. His stomach rolled like a stormy sea and he felt dizzy; the nausea had increased and he had to cover his mouth to keep from vomiting.

He shut his eyes and turned around to place his forehead against the door. Why did his mind always go to such a dark place, why did he always have to put himself into this dark pit of emotions? He was trying to get better, damnit. He ground his teeth together; he wanted to break something, to rip something apart and throw the pieces against the walls. He almost spun around and overturned the dresser when a cold hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving.

"What the hell?" Toushiro shouted craning his neck to look over his shoulder. If Ichigo was – there was no one there.

His breath caught in his throat. All of this was a hallucination, it had to be. He clenched his jaw tightly and reached for the doorknob. His hand was roughly yanked back and he was pushed up against the wood. Toushiro's eyes went wide and he drew in a sharp breath. His eyesight wasn't as bad as to not be able to make out a person, but even as he craned his neck again he couldn't see anyone.

He began to panic when his arm was gripped tighter, almost painfully, and he felt something on his neck, something that felt like cold breathing. In fact everything in the room was cold and his towel didn't do anything to help. He had Goosebumps from this shower, but now it felt like his skin had grown scales. Frigid shivers ran down his spine and this time his trembling wasn't from his medication. A small whimper escaped his mouth in a puff of condensation as he felt something settle over him, pushing him harder against the door. It felt almost like a pressure, a cold, suffocating pressure.

He pushed back when he felt something scarily similar to fingers toy with the edge of his towel. His arm was released, but then he felt, was that a tongue, on his neck. His heart pounded frantically and he reached out for the doorknob again. He rammed his knuckles into the brass before he got a grip and tried to yank it open. The knob turned but the door stayed firmly shut. He drew in a sharp breath, as the back of his neck was tightly gripped and his face was shoved against the door. He squirmed, breathing heavily, but the panic made it impossible for the oxygen to reach his brain. His stomach was a whirlpool, and bile, mixed with the acid from his stomach filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. All the while he was rattling the doorknob fervidly.

Just as he was about to scream for help the door was pushed open, shoving him to the ground. The pressure dissipated in an instant and he was left on the ground panting like an overworked dog, with vomit on his chin and chest.

"Shiro? What're doing in here?" Ichigo poked his head into the room.

Toushiro fought to calm himself and he hastily wiped his chin. Ichigo dove to his knees, suddenly alert, and hovered over him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Ichigo tilted his head. "Are you sick? Is it the medication?"

Toushiro shook his head and shakily got to his feet. He needed to get out of this room. He heard Ichigo sigh and follow him.

...

Sometime after his second shower, the water had miraculously gotten warm again, Ichigo managed to wrap his arms around him and refused to let go. Toushiro didn't want him to let go. His heart was still hammering hours later. But he knew that if he didn't make Ichigo get off of him he would know something was wrong. He didn't need to tell him that he was now hallucinating – how else could he describe what had happened in the room? A _ghost_? Besides, Ichigo wouldn't have set up Ken's things. He may have brought them to the new house, but he wouldn't have set them up, knowing how Toushiro would take it. Ichigo may have been stubborn, but he wasn't insensitive. He wouldn't have gone behind his back. He wouldn't play with his mental state like that. So, Toushiro had to be hallucinating. But, if he was hallucinating, he wouldn't be fit to work. He'd have to stay at home. And he couldn't do that, he just couldn't. It had ended badly the last time and he didn't want to repeat it. He didn't trust himself. So, he pulled away from Ichigo's embrace.

Ichigo wined softly, obviously a bit tipsy from his night out, and pouted. Toushiro rolled his eyes, and picked up his briefcase from where he sat it at the foot of the bed. He snapped it open and pulled out a thin, paperback book.

Ichigo sighed, "How was work?"

"It was okay, I suppose. I have to go through the student handbook by tomorrow, though."

"Why? You gonna have a test?"

Toushiro rolled his eyes again and slipped under the covers. "That joke is getting old." Ichigo chuckled softly. "Have you seen my glasses?"

"Weren't they in the bathroom?"

Toushiro huffed and kicked off the sheets before Ichigo pulled him back.

"I'll get them; need to brush my teeth anyway."

Toushiro rearranged the pillows and turned on his bedside lamp while his husband disappeared into the bathroom.

"You should come out with us next time," Ichigo called through the door. "It was fun. Some asshole tried to start something with me for being gay, but Renji and a few other guys shut him down. You should have seen it. I knew we were gonna meet those kind of assholes here, but I didn't think that so many people would have our backs."

Toushiro hummed, idly thumbing the pages of the handbook. He couldn't go out even if he wanted to; he wasn't supposed to drink alcohol while on medication. And he would rather die than be sober and have to deal with everyone else's drunken idiocy. When would Ichigo understand that?

"What about at the school? You said you had a few problems yesterday."

"It's nothing. You just said there are people who will stand up for us."

Ichigo was silent for a while.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked haltingly, "I mean, you threw up. You're not supposed to get sick enough to throw up."

"I'm fine," Toushiro called, frowning. He felt agitation rise from the bottom of his chest.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"_What_ did you eat?"

He huffed as the agitation grew. Again with all the questions, he couldn't really blame Ichigo for not trusting him, but he couldn't help getting angry at him. "Why do you care?" he snapped. "I had yogurt."

Ichigo emerged from the bathroom and handed him his glasses. "You really should be eating better than that-"

"Well I'm not hungry." He grabbed the glasses and turned so he didn't have to see Ichigo get into bed.

"I know, babe, it's just that... I'm worried about you."

His agitation turned into dull anger and he ground his teeth. "You don't have to be."

"But-"

"I can take care of myself, for fuck's sake. I have been, long before you ever showed up, so just stop it."

Ichigo tensed visibly and he paused halfway into bed. The ensuing silence was suffocating, like a wet blanket. Toushiro ground his teeth and seethed while Ichigo slowly backed away.

"I think I'll get some writing done before I go to sleep."

He always said that when he intended to sleep on the couch, away from Toushiro's unexplained temper. He watched him leave and shut the door quietly from the corner of his eyes. Once alone, Toushiro growled loudly and flung the book across the room as hard as he could. It landed with a rustle of papers and he slumped back against the pillows. Damn Ichigo and his questions, damn his temper, damn his medication, and damn this goddamn house. He ripped his glasses from his face and carelessly dropped them on the nightstand. Small, hot tears were forming at the corners of his eyes and he buried his face in his pillow. A part of him hoped that he would suffocate that night.

He woke when Ichigo wormed his way under the blankets much later and rolled over, surprised. Ichigo's only response was to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Toushiro felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world as he turned away and tried to get back to sleep.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he wrung the sheets, nails scrapping against the fabric with a smooth, scratching sound.

"It's okay, baby," Ichigo whispered back, "I understand."

Toushiro's chest tightened and for once he was glad for how drowsy his medication made him, because he didn't want to stay awake to feel the gargantuan guilt that shrouded his shoulders.

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you guys can even remember what happened in the last chapter : either way this should answer some questions, and hopefully cause more. I'm sure a few of you can piece together what happened to Ken. **

**Also, albinism is related to poor eyesight, due to the lack of pigmentation and crossing over of more optic fibres than normal. So, there's a reason behind Toushiro's glasses (besides fulfilling one of my head canons). Though, I must admit that writing Toushiro this way was a bit challenging. Hope the reasons for his personality change are becoming clear. **

**As always, I'd love to hear what you guys think so far. **


	4. Games with a Ghost

The clock on the mantle ticked away. Ichigo hated it. Its loud repetitive tick-tocking made his skin itch so badly that he wanted to crawl out of his body. Even his earbuds and turning his music to the highest volume didn't help to block it out. The metal hands moved slowly, mechanically and his heartbeat slowed to match. If he listened to it any longer he would go insane. He thought they could have gotten rid of it with the move. Even in San Francisco it had annoyed him to no end; the way it had echoed around the living room reminding him how quickly time passed and how little he was doing with himself. Toushiro said the problem would have been easily solved if he just used his office. The same went for this house; he couldn't hear the clock from upstairs, but he found writing at a desk to be stifling. He only ever used his office when it was crunch time and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

Ichigo gave up sometime around two am. His eyes were dry and tired, the words were beginning to blur on his monitor, and he could not take the damn clock ticking anymore. The silence of the rest of the house made it worse. So, he shut his laptop, set it on the coffee table, and stretched. His shoulders popped and his neck cracked as he let out a loud groan in relief. He swung his legs up and was about to pull the patch-work quilt over him when a picture of Toushiro sleeping alone flashed through his mind. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. It wasn't really Toushiro's fault for snapping like that. He shouldn't take it to heart. He set his feet back on the ground, but made no move to leave the couch. Besides, Toushiro would most likely feel better in the morning; he usually did. Plus, the new house, moving, was supposed to be a fresh start. He couldn't afford to fall back into the same pattern they had in San Francisco where Toushiro had been at his worst and he had done nothing to help. He sighed softly as he stood and shuffled to the stairs.

Ichigo opened the door as quietly as he could and tiptoed to the bed. Toushiro was sleeping on his side, curled around a pillow. The redhead smiled slightly as he slipped under the covers, causing Toushiro to stir. He groggily rolled over to face him, looking slightly confused. Ichigo pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, willing him to fall back asleep. When Toushiro rolled away from him and pulled the sheets up to his chin Ichigo held back a sigh; sometimes he didn't know what to do about his husband's mood swings. He couldn't pretend that they didn't affect him, he couldn't ignore them. He had tried, but now he felt worn down, and every time Toushiro pushed him away, he couldn't lie to himself; it hurt –

"Sorry," Toushiro mumbled softly, as he wrung the sheets, soft scrapping noises echoed around the otherwise silent room.

Then he did something like that, giving Ichigo a glimpse of the man he used to love, the person he had married and promised to spend the rest of his life with. Ichigo knew what Toushiro was going through; he had been at his side during all the doctor visits, he had picked him up when he broke down, and had braved his violent storms. He would patiently until the real Toushiro returned to him.

"It's okay, baby, I understand," he whispered, but from Toushiro's lack of response, Ichigo wasn't sure if he was awake to hear him.

Ichigo rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe sleeping on the couch would have been the better option that night. The buzz from the alcohol earlier had long since faded and he wished he had another beer – or something stronger – to get him through the rest of the night. The shadows on the ceiling began to swirl as he felt himself drift off and his thoughts slowed to a halt.

The next second Ichigo woke, gasping for air, only he couldn't. There was a vice-like pressure around his neck, preventing him from breathing. He coughed, hands flying to his throat, but his hands were forced away with an icy gust of wind. He cracked open his eyes when the pressure changed, somewhat, and it felt like a body was on top of him, pinning him to the bed. He felt cold, strong hands surround his neck, digging into his windpipe. His vision grew blurry, darkness was swimming around him, but he could just make out a dark figure hovering over him. Despite the dizziness from the lack of oxygen he thrashed around, trying to knock the person off of him. He tried to yell but all that escaped his throat was a strangled, gurgling noise. The hands on his neck tightened, burning his skin in their iciness. He kicked, he flailed his arms and he tried to yell again. His head felt like it was going to explode, his eyes pushed against their sockets, and he felt a trail of saliva leak from the corner of his open mouth.

"Ichigo!"

A small hand touched his shoulder and just like that he could breathe. The figure on top of him disappeared in a blink and air flooded his starved lungs. Ichigo sat up, coughing and rubbing his neck. His skin was covered in goose bumps, his heart thudded heavily and quickly, but he felt dizzy and the room was swaying even though he wasn't standing. He looked around through the hot tears that that wet his eyes, expecting to see someone standing next to the bed with a knife or gun, but the room was empty. He reached over to turn on his bedside lamp and warm, orange-yellow light spread out over the room. Shadows danced in the corners and grey, morning light bled from behind the curtains, but nothing was amiss. He tried to calm his racing heart and regulate his breathing.

"Ichigo?" Toushiro asked softly, "What's the matter?"

Ichigo took a few moments to collect himself before turning to his husband. "Nothing-" he coughed to clear his raspy voice, "Nothing, just a bad dream."

Toushiro tilted his head. "You sounded like you couldn't breathe."

Ichigo continued to massage his throat. "Realistic dream..." he muttered. He turned off the lamp and lay back down. "Either way let's get back to sleep."

"It's about time for me to get up anyway," Toushiro sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Ichigo grumbled sitting up again. "Ugh, already?"

Toushiro pushed him back down. "I can get my own breakfast; you go back to sleep."

"Okay," he sighed, pulling the sheets to his shoulders. He pretended to be asleep as Toushiro moved around the room, getting ready for his day. The bathroom door open and closed a few times, he heard the toilet flush and the faucet run, but he was too worked up to fall back asleep. His throat still hurt, he could feel the ghost of hands around his neck. He shuddered and burrowed deeper into the blankets. What the hell kind of dream had that been anyway? Sure, he had had weird dreams before; he had dreamt of nearly dying, but of someone strangling him? Maybe he should change his diet; he had been feeling a little sluggish lately. That would mean he would have to make another trip to the grocery market. But, he didn't have a car yet; his dad had called yesterday to say that they would be spending a few days sightseeing. It was nice of him to offer to drive Ichigo's truck from San Francisco to let him spend more time with Toushiro, but he was beginning to feel like he was trapped in the house. He could ask Renji to take him, but he had his own things to worry about and Ichigo didn't want to seem needy.

Toushiro lightly brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, causing him to crack open an eye.

"I'm leaving in a bit," he murmured and pressed his lips to Ichigo's temple.

"'Kay, have a good day, babe."

"You too."

Ichigo strained his ears to hear Toushiro move around downstairs for a short while before the front door closed and he heard his car start and pull out of the driveway. He ripped the sheets from his body and sat up, rubbing his face.

And so another day starts, he thought glumly as he stood and stumbled to the bathroom, casually stripping out of his night clothes. The warm shower helped last night's tension ease away and he was able to forget his dream for a while. That is, until he wiped the fog away from the mirror and was about to spread shaving cream over his jaw and neck. He paused and leaned in closer when he saw faint reddish-purple bruises encircling his neck.

Frowning, he pressed his fingertips to the marks, wincing as they throbbed.

"What the fuck?" he muttered aloud. How? Did he fight himself in his sleep? Did Toushi- No, he killed the thought as it emerged. Was there someone else in the house with them? He shook his head; that was impossible. They had a security system, and he had been sure to lock all the doors and windows every night. So how... maybe he had done it to himself. If he dreamt that someone was chocking him then he could have possibly tried to get their hands away from his neck. He very well could have done this to himself. Still, he took a few deep, calming breaths before spreading the shaving cream over his face and picking up his razor.

After a quick breakfast of oatmeal with chia seeds and a banana he opened his laptop. But, with no deadlines to meet, no new emails from his publisher, and with what had been going on lately he had next to no drive to begin writing. He sighed, resting his head against the backrest of the couch. He could go workout to take his mind off of things, but he already showered and he was feeling very lethargic. Everything was unpacked; he was just waiting for his dad and sisters to arrive with the rest of their stuff. He chewed the inside of his cheek; there was nothing to do. They hadn't set up the cable yet, so mindlessly watching TV was off the menu. He was about to deflate with a huff, but he remembered that he had recently made a _Netflix_ account. It wasn't too early to waste the day doing nothing, right?

He glanced to the aggravating clock; yes it was. He ran a hand through his hair making a mental list of all he could possibly think of to do. Well... he could... he sighed tiredly. The back room, with Ken's stuff... Toushiro was obviously disturbed by it even though he hadn't mentioned anything last night. Ichigo hadn't set the furniture up himself, and Toushiro wouldn't have dared touch any of it. But, he must have. He had probably done it in one of his 'moods'; he could be unpredictable. Ichigo had come home to complete chaos twice before. Broken vases, pictures ripped from the walls, bookcases over turned, sheets ripped, and a husband vehemently crying in the middle of it all. The next day he had cleaned obsessively.

It was best if he took apart the furniture and put it away, before Toushiro broke down again.

Ichigo jumped to his feet, located a wrench and a few other tools from the hall closet and grabbed a few boxes from the pile in a corner of the basement. The room wasn't as cold as the last time he had been in it, but there was still a noticeable draft flowing through. He was glad for the _Under Armour_ turtleneck he had worn to hide the bruises – just in case he got any unexpected visitors. He started by folding the bedding and rug, and taking down the drapes. He put away all the toys and sat down in the middle of the floor and began to take apart the bed.

He tried his hardest not to think about what he was doing. This was the second time he had to pack away Ken's things. He clenched his jaw to the point of hurting and refused to blink, lest and tears start to fall. His chest was tight, but with deep, even breaths he managed to ignore the lump in his throat. He hadn't wanted to pack up Ken's room the first time, but when Toushiro began to spend all his time in the room, he had no choice. Putting everything away felt like he was sealing his son's coffin, cementing the fact that he was gone and never coming back. He had cried the first time.

Ichigo sniffed and rubbed his nose. He couldn't feel it, but a line of snot on his sleeve told him that it was running. Either from the cold, or from the fact that he was trying his hardest not to cry he didn't know. He took apart the desk next, running his fingers over the scratches, crayon marks, and drawings done in permanent marker which he couldn't quite manage to scrub off. They had gotten Ken a desk because he saw Ichigo's own and was adamant that he wanted to be like daddy. The Three-year-old couldn't write yet, but he had knelt on his chair and drew his heart out. There were always crayons all over the floor, and his little, pudgy hands constantly smelt of wax. Ichigo smiled faintly and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye.

When he realised, with trembling hands, and numb fingers, that the dresser was packed with little clothes, he took a step back let a few tears fall, leaving trails that instantly cooled on his cheeks, and decided that he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't shut Ken away in a bunch of boxes, not again. He closed the drawer with a firm thud and left the room. He leaned against the wall of the hallway and wiped the leftover tears from his face. Why had he thought that this would be a good idea? He almost didn't get through it the first time. He took a shuddering breath, as he rubbed feeling back into his hands and arms. His skin was a bit chilled, and he needed something to take his mind off of Ken. He didn't want to spend another day consumed in grief. This house wasn't supposed to be full of bad memories.

Ichigo made himself a cup of green tea and sat cross-legged on the couch. He pulled the patchwork quilt over him and set his laptop on the coffee table as the opening sequence of a new comedy show started.

However, as soon as he leaned against the arm rest he felt his eyes begin to droop and he was snoring moments later. What did he expect really? Staying up to avoid his husband until past midnight then waking up to a nightmare?

Ichigo yawned, stretching his arms over his head as sunlight seeped through the spaces in the blinds. His arms brushed against smooth, silk sheets. A periodic, cool breeze blew over his torso from the air conditioning unit on the wall. He took a deep breath, the 'Greek Seaside' scent from the plug-in air freshener was strong in the air. He heard a soft groan from next to him and a pale, thin arm was thrown across his chest.

"You're still in bed?" he mumbled as he ran his fingers along the smooth, almost hairless, arm.

"Mmmm, it's Saturday, don't have to get up," Toushiro murmured groggily, snuggling into Ichigo's side and wormed a foot under Ichigo's calves.

"And Ken hasn't come to wake us up yet?" he asked as he rolled over to face his husband. Even though he had just woken up Toushiro's eyes were bright, their greenish-blue hue was more vivid than Ichigo remembered. His light – a few shades lighter than platinum blond – hair stuck up in every direction possible while some locks were glued to his face from spending the night pressed against the pillow. Lines of sunlight patterned his body, illuminating the otherwise invisible stubble that coated his jaw, and defined his mostly translucent eyebrows and eyelashes. Even after all these years, Ichigo felt warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his toes whenever he studied his husband's face.

Toushiro yawned. "He's at your dad's, remember? He wanted to take him to that kids' show-thing today."

"Oh, right." He reached out and pulled Toushiro into his chest. "That means we have the whole day to ourselves." He felt him smile. "We haven't had time to ourselves, in like... forever."

"Well, since we adopted Ken."

"No even before that; since we got married, since we started dating... since I spilled tea on you at that coffee shop."

Toushiro shook his head and traced an invisible pattern across Ichigo's chest as he snorted softly. "You remember that? That was ages ago."

"Most embarrassing moment of my life, but it was when I finally plucked up the courage to ask you out. How could I forget?"

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against Ichigo's shoulder. "You were such an idiot back then."

"Yet, you still said yes when I asked you on a date."

"Only to save you a modicum of embarrassment, you spilt your tea, tripped me, and knocked over my tray. The least I could do was say yes."

"I know; you don't have to remind me what happened."

Toushiro laughed softly and stopped his wandering fingers to pat Ichigo on the chest, attempting to soothe the sting of the memory. "What time is it by the way?"

Ichigo rolled over; brining his husband with him with a hand clamped around his back, and felt around his bedside table for his phone. Toushiro huffed and dug his chin into Ichigo's shoulder in protest.

"Hey, stop it. It's nine thirty – stop it," Toushiro's pointy chin was a weapon, Ichigo firmly believed. He rolled them over again, pinning him to the mattress.

"I'm not a toy, Ichigo," Toushiro growled in fake annoyance; he was still grinning playfully. "Stop moving me around like that."

Ichigo smiled innocently and dipped down to kiss his forehead. "I wouldn't move you around so much if you put on a bit of muscle."

Toushiro rolled his eyes, "Well, I'm sorry that I don't work from home and have all the free time you do."

Ichigo chuckled, "If you'd just wake up to go jogging with me-"

Toushiro pressed a finger to Ichigo's lips. "We both know that's not happening."

"Fine, die of heart disease. See if I care."Ichigo licked the finger, causing Toushiro to pull his hand away and scrunch his nose.

"Oh, you'll care. You'll care a lot."

"Yeah, I will," he admitted and leaned down again to kiss his forehead, but Toushiro stopped him and guided his face to kiss his lips.

"Nine thirty, huh? I'd give us... two hours before we have to have to get up."

Ichigo braced himself on his elbows as Toushiro wrapped his arms around his neck and gently nibbled on his bottom lip. Ichigo smiled, capturing his husband's mouth with his. He loved how Toushiro's fiery disposition seeped into his kisses. He was never gentle, all force and passion, something that contrasted with his size and delicate features. Their teeth clashed, breath mingled, and tongues swirled around one another. Toushiro ran his fingers up and down Ichigo's arms, squeezing his biceps, digging his nails into the taught muscle, while Ichigo threaded his fingers in his thick, white locks. He moaned softly as Toushiro brushed his hands down his back and started to play with the dimples at the base of his spine with his thumbs. Ichigo shuddered, wishing that Toushiro would go lower and then, seconds later, he did. Ichigo drew in a sharp breath as his husband palmed his buttocks and grinned into the kiss. He pulled back gently clamping his teeth on Ichigo's bottom lip then released it with a wet pop. Ichigo ran his tongue along Toushiro's jaw despite the bite of stubble then settled to suck his pulse.

"No marks," Toushiro warned breathlessly, but made no move to stop him. Instead he tugged at the bottom of Ichigo's shirt, pulling it up over his chest.

Ichigo stopped his sucking long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere behind him. Then as he re-attached himself to Toushiro's neck he got to work unbuttoning the too-big sleeping shirt he was wearing and loosening the draw-string at his hips. Toushiro lifted his hips to allow him to pull his pants down his thighs and groaned headily when he hooked an arm around his waist and lifted him up into his body for a moment before he pressed them both into the mattress. He squirmed around slightly then wrapped his legs around Ichigo's waist, rolling his hips ever so slightly. Ichigo moaned softly, reaching down to press his palm against Toushiro's backside then dragged it up his thigh. They met once more in a deep, sloppy kiss.

The room was too hot, even with the air conditioner on; the Californian sunlight that bled through the slits in the blinds heated up their bed to feel like fire. Yet, Toushiro's hands were cold as they travelled along Ichigo's body, pinching, squeezing, pressing. He pulled back slightly and took Toushiro's hands in his, rubbing them so they weren't cold to the touch. Toushiro huffed in annoyance and yanked his hands away to continue to explore his husband. He tugged Ichigo's sweatpants down his legs, making him jump when his knuckles brushed the back of his thighs. His entire body was like ice.

He pried Toushiro's arms from around him. "You're freezing, baby," he said in confusion.

Toushiro ignored him, pushing on his chest to change their position. He found himself on his back looking up at his husband whose cheeks were flushed scarlet and pupils blown wide as he straddled his hips. Ichigo normally would have been taken by the sight if it wasn't for how cold his skin was. Goose bumps rose wherever he touched. It felt like cold knives dragging across his skin when Toushiro ground his hips against him. And when he reached up to make him dismount, he noticed that his hands were shivering and his fingertips were blue.

"Sh-shiro," he stammered with chattering teeth, but Toushiro either didn't hear him or ignored him once more.

He lowered his head, breathing icy breath into Ichigo's face before joining their lips in a rough kiss. His lips were chapped and felt like frozen sand paper. Ichigo's eyes widened and he pushed his husband away from him. Toushiro snarled with a mouthful of rotting, black teeth. His milk-white skin was riddled with rot and stretched thin over gaunt cheek bones, his lips were grey-blue and cracked, and half his nose was missing, a black, bloody mass in the centre of his face. His head hung at a strange angle, as if his neck was broken, and patches of his hair were torn out, scalp bloody in some areas.

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat as he shoved the monster away from him and scrambled backwards. It fell off the bed with a soft thump and Ichigo felt panic crawl its way up his throat as well as his dinner from last night and bile. He pulled the sheets tightly around him as the monster scrabbled along the floor. He stared over the edge of the bed as a bony, bloody hand groped at the sheets. Its ring finger was missing and in its place was a rotting bone and blackened stump. Ichigo's heart stopped, he dared not to breathe and hugged his knees to his chest.

The room grew colder, frost settled on the headboard and sheets, and it no longer smelt like a Greek Seaside, but rather rotting eggs and decaying flesh. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand but his breath still condensed in front of his face and the monster slowly picked itself up off the floor. It swayed as it stood and looked at him with dim, glassy eyes. Ichigo yelled, he yelled as loud as he could, but there was no sound. In fact, it felt like something was covering his mouth and squeezing his neck.

His eyes flew open; he was back in the living room in the house in Wyoming. But it was too soon for relief; the monster was on top of him, holding his neck painfully tight. Cracked, frigid lips moved against his, and a sandpapery tongue wormed its way into his mouth. The breath was cold, and stale. It tasted of iron and something that had gone bad years ago. He gagged, hands flying to find purchase on anything, to free himself from the death grip. When he felt a hand make its way down his body to palm the front of his jeans and pull down the zipper, he began to thrash violently. The hand around his throat tightened, but he was too panicked to react appropriately. He kicked, twisted under the grip, and somehow managed to roll off the couch. He hit the floor with a crash, knocking into the coffee table and pushing it back a few inches. He felt his hip begin to throb and he had knocked his head against the side of the couch, but the only thing he noticed was that the thing, the monster, was gone. It had vanished like it hadn't been there seconds ago, almost as if Ichigo's eyes were playing tricks on him.

He lay on the floor panting; his skin still tingled where it had touched him and he wanted to vomit. His mouth tasted of old blood and rotten meat and he was cold beyond reason. He slowly got to his feet; his knees were shaking so badly that he was surprised that he could stand. The only thought on his mind was that he needed to get out of here. He had to leave the house. He made it to the front door and was about to run down the porch steps when he realised what he was doing. Clutching the rough wood of the railing, he hunched over the banister and tried to calm himself.

It was just a dream. He ran his hand down his face. It wasn't his first nightmare, so he shouldn't have been so shaken up. He managed to slow his breathing. It was a creepy, old house; he should have expected these kinds of ghost dreams. He had seen enough horror films and read more than his fair share of thrillers to act as fodder for his nightmares. Still, his spine tingled and goose bumps coated his skin. He swallowed thickly, the scent of rotting flesh still filled his nose, and the image of the monster, the depraved version of his husband, flashed in his mind. He drew in a sharp breath and chased the image from his head. Toushiro wasn't a monster. He wasn't...

Ichigo didn't blame Toushiro for Ken's death; the thought had never crossed his mind. He had been shocked when he learnt that Toushiro did blame himself anyway. But, then the events that followed; his tantrums, quitting his job, the depression, doctors, medication, and Ichigo had to admit that a part of him, the tiniest part ever, resented Toushiro for all of it.

He sighed deeply as he pushed the monster into the back of his mind. The image of his husband brightened to the smirking, teal-eyed man he remembered from a time not too long ago. He missed him. He missed his gentle teasing and sarcasm. He missed the way he would pretend to not like cuddling, but would hold him tight while he slept. He reminded himself firmly, all the time, that this was still Toushiro, this was the same mad he had known for all these years.

So, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His finger hovered over the call button for a few seconds, Toushiro might be mad at him for calling while he was at work. Ichigo readied himself for a verbal beating as the call went through.

Toushiro didn't pick up until the fourth ring.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he answered, voice laced with concern.

"I...I..." he paused in slight shock. The real Toushiro was still there after all. "I... had another nightmare. I just needed to hear your voice."

There was a pause and Ichigo heard the clack of keyboard keys and a rustle of paper.

"Sorry, were you busy?"

"Not in particular, no. Are you okay now?"

"... Yeah."

"Ichigo."

"Kinda."

"...I'll see if I can come home early."

Ichigo's eyes widened; he hadn't expected Toushiro to offer that. He had honestly just wanted to talk for a bit and re-anchor himself in reality. He fumbled with his next sentence. "Y-you don't have to."

"Do you want me to?"

"I..."

"Then I will."

"Okay. Thanks, babe. Love you."

"Yeah... you too."

Ichigo smiled as he hung up.

* * *

><p><strong>More ghost action, but things are starting to piece together.<strong>

**-Mymomo**


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